As soon as there is life...

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear. Except a creature be part coward, it is not a compliment to say it is brave."

:::::::::::::::::

...it was then that the rumbling started.

Robin's head whipped up, every fiber in her body on high alert. Whirling around, hands clenched into fists, lacking the blue flame of defense, quite uncharacteristically Robin prepared for a blow to come. The ground shook-- and the breeze quickened, sending her braid up and around her face. After ten seconds of intense fear and retaliation, the vibrations stopped-- Robin still frozen like a statue standing there in a completely perfect looking field, tall grasses licking around her feet in a lively breeze.

Everything felt perfect, the sound was still shining marvelously wonderful grace of warmth onto her skin, making it prickle with unease. Yet something was not right-- her skin, although basking in sunlight, prickled with unease and instincts. Trusting that clenching feeling in her gut, Robin hurried forward as quickly as she could, trying not to stumble in the dark.

Quite suddenly, it came to her.

The birds. Where were the birds? They had been singing just a minute ago--that's what had set her at ease beforehand. Now where were they? They must have...

Robin stopped, burying her face in her hands-- eyes squeezed tightly closed. Oh, God, no. Please-- not this. Like a typewriter, each letter came individually before her mind, straight form the textbook.

It is said, that before a massive storm-- animals will panic. People remark that before a tornado, or hurricane, you can walk down a perfectly normal looking street-- and yet feel at unease. The reason, they recall, is then by noticing that there are no animals in sight. Even the bugs have vanished from the earth. There are no birds lining the trees or power-lines, and dogs will whine to return into their masters houses. In otherwords, the animals-- to escape from impeding danger-- will.

"Flee."

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

They are running, down through the garden to the garage to the car, bare feet pounding against the gravel path, the flames eating the house and the garden he had spent so long to cultivate.

Yet, it only felt like yesterday he had planted the first seeds.

They climb into the car, man and boy both, forgetting the seat belts as panic overtakes them. Pierre backs out hurriedly, speeding away as the landscape erupts around him. The fire engines are going past, screeching, sirens blaring. Pierre doesn't look back.

He takes side roads all the way into town- "Shouldn't we get the girls?" his son had asked, and Pierre had made a turn back - weaving in and out of traffic regardless of cops. "Which school is it?" he asks tersely, turning onto the rue Hugo.

"That one, that one right-" his son begins, then stops suddenly. Pierre doesn't turn around at first, but then he does, eventually, he's only human-

And he had already smelled the smoke.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tears choking him up again, and he opens the door and jumps out into the street, where suddenly the traffic has gone. He runs, fast as he can, before the wooden corpse of his son has burnt away and the fire consuming the gasoline in the car, and the thing

Explodes.

As he hits the ground, blown over by the force of the explosion, he realizes he doesn't know his own son's name anymore. Or maybe, he thinks, I never did.

[/i]

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“In the face of fantasy, in the unexplained, the realists laughs-- until they themselves are thrown head first into that reality.

Who's laughing then?"

:::::::::::::::::

"Don't stray too far from the group!" The teacher called over the roar of students talking. "There's supposed to be a huge storm coming into tonight, so we need you to stay within eye-shot of everyone else while exploring."

Oh, why didn't she listen?

Giggling, 10 year old Robin scampered over a huge log, sinking down behind it into the mud-- crouching down from view, hiding from her friend, Kelley. The hide-and-go seek game was popular amongst the 4th graders, and Robin was exceptionally good at it.

Perhaps too good.

After nearly being caught, Robin slipped further into the trees, blending in with the tall grasses-- racing away from the laughing voices of her friends. Finding a huge cliff-wall that towered above her head, Robin slipped into a narrow crevice, hardly a foot into the wall, and sat caressed between the two layers of rock.

No one would ever find her here!-- And no one ever did.

Suddenly, hours later, dreadfully lost and cowering in the ferocious storm that rolled in-- this game didn't seem too fun anymore.

Robin ran and the thunder rolled across the plains, sending horrible, horrible, vibrations up her legs-- crumpling them by the knees in sheer fear. A crackling of thunder followed instantly afterward, and the wind picked up speed-- gradually making it harder to stand, let alone walk with knees of jelly. The sun faded as quickly as it came, a cool harsh breeze replacing it and sending chills up her arms-- despite them being covered by her black wet-suit.

Robin managed a few more steps forward, before tripping in the dark, and falling onto her stomach hard-- making her gasp. No fair! No fair! No fair! It wasn't even raining, this wasn't fair! This was impossible! A jolt of pain ripped up Robin's face her head slammed into the ground, a sharp rock catching her on the cheek. She rolled up into a cowering but technically sitting position, clutching her cheek. The sharp rock extruding from the meadow was shoved away with pain and anger, but all the girl was concerned about at the moment that something warm and wet was trickling down her face. Arm trembling, Robin lowered her arm down from her face, and curled it into a fist. The distinct smell of blood rose into the air.

Robin sat there, a rock against the wind, knees brought close to her chest, head buried in between her knees as the grass whipped around her. The blood, the pain, the fear had all brought her to a single conclusion that ran her blood cold.

This is all real.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Running. He is running like he never has before, running and running and running through the streets as the fire roars in his ears yet he can't feel it's heat, can't smell the ashes of anything other than the wooden bodies, no, not bodies, they can't be them, can't be, but he knows on the inside he's playing a vicious trick on himself, and someone out there is goading him on.

He's running like he was a child again, not even out of high school with limbs long and freely swinging across the asphalt. Running running running skid to a stop here and turn left, always turning left and running more. Here's the school, he remembers it, he went to primary school here, and he dashes in the courtyard, into the halls and up the stairs to the second grade classroom

only the stairs go on forever it seems, onward and upward and higher and high until her swears that he should have reached the top floor already, five above where he has to be, but he isn't, he's just almost to the landing, running and running and there, finally he's there, turn left again, always left, down the hallway to Mme Renee's classroom, the familiar door with the hand prints and the butterflies, there it is, he could almost kiss it, and he flings it open

to see his daughters are already gone, burning to ashes, and Mme Renee doesn't even see.

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“The fear of death is the most unjustified of all fears, for there's no risk of accident for someone who's dead."

:::::::::::::::::

This is all real. This is all real. Thunder roar--crack-crack-crack--ground rumbling--oh, so horrible--stop--stop--stop!

The thunder raged around her, ground trembling in awe of the might of the building storm. Yet no rain fell-- no mist, no dew, no spray to ride on the waves of the wind. No rain to heal the girl who lived because of water, who's powers flourished in the rain. This was all real. She was going to die.

Right here.

Right now.

No-no-no-no! Robin screeched inwardly, still crouched in the tall grass-- hugging her arms--teeth chattering from both the sudden wave of cold that swept through the air, and from sheer fear. This... this... Another sudden bolt of crashing thunder made the girl jump off the ground, heart pounding. Despite the sure danger of falling in the pitch-black, crawling, crawling, crawling was not an option! Adrenaline soared mighty and free in Robin's veins as she turned into a sprint, all out racing-- heart thumping a mile a minute-- she could go for hours like this, and she would.

If it weren't for the fact that she couldn't see.

WHAM! Something hit Robin full on in the legs, sending her knees into an automatic lock mode, twisting together as she tripped over the rapidly decaying log. All the wind knocked out of her, Robin rolled her legs off the propped up log-- Robin slid onto her back, gasping for air in the ferocious wind-- eyes staring blankly upward into the gray sky. This isn't possible! Why a storm? Why not an army to face-- or a pit of snakes? Miserably, Robin struggled to her feet, trying to get a sense of her surroundings before she dashed blindly off into the thick of the storm again. A wave of thunder came again, sweeping up her legs and rendering them useless-- as weak as rubber. At least I could see an army, know what they do!

"Give me something I can fight!"

//No one is coming for you.//

Robin jolted out of her misery, fear once again dominant over everything else. She managed to stumble a few yards away, before her instinct took over-- and she whirled around with a snarl-- hands clenched into fists. "Who's there?!"

//You'll be stuck here forever.//

"Go away!" Robin screeched, now fully aware that something was starting to mess with her.

//You'll die here. Drown in the storm.//

"Stop!"

//And no one will care.//

"Liar!" Robin shouted, hair whipping around her face in a frenzy in the freezing breeze of the storm. "Get away from me-- you can't hurt me!"

OOF! She shouldn't have asked for it, the next second Robin found herself eagle-sprawled the ground-- having no idea what or from what direction she was hit with. A jolt of pain shock-waved up her head as her head slammed into the ground. Rubbing the back of her head as she sat up blearily, a pang of fear clenched her stomach.

//Are you so sure?// The voice mocked.

Fury unhampered, Robin shouted back, "You're not real, coward!"

Silence.

//Coward...?// The voice said, deep tone swelling in the stormy winds. Robin tersely staring straight ahead of where the voice came from. There was a full minute's silence that followed, in which the only sound was the occasional terrifying roll of thunder, and the sound of the whipping of the long grasses in the wind. //Coward?// The voice asked again, more affirmative and angry this time. Heart pounding and stomach twisting uneasily, Robin nodded slowly-- hesitantly.

//Then fight me.// The voice turned sinister, growling and fierce. There was a sudden whiff of air in front of the girl's face, and something heavy and metallic was thrust into Robin's arms.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Ashes. Always to ashes, with the flame dancing on the edges of the cinders, taunting him, warning yet tempting- touch us, see us, are we real or are we merely the raving fantasias of your grief, poor souls? Yield, tarry, gaze upon us into oblivion and meet with you kindred once more. He walks slowly into the classroom, gazing at the flame with terror in his eyes and fear in his heart. The other children have disappeared, as has Mme Renee with her youthful smile and colorful dresses (or had they been in there at all?), leaving just him and the ashes and the flames, flickering in the dark (but wasn't it day only a second ago?) all alone.

WHOOSH.

The flames shoot up, spiraling into the air like a beacon or bonfire, blazing through the roof and beyond into the starless sky. The fire surrounds him, everywhere, and he's is transformed into a frightened animal within the body of a boy, eyes darting, searching for an exit. The window, there! He dives out of the opening, falling into the street below. He lands with a thump and is dazed but a moment, then he's up on his feet and running again, running, but a trickle of doubt has seeped into his mind-

the room it looked just like it did when i was in the second year how can that be aren't i married now im thirty six aren't i but why do i look like how i looked in high school and why dont i know my kids names

the thoughts running through his mind like so many agitated mice, while his feet run home.

Home. There's a place he never thought he'd be running back to- not the home he has made, the home that made him, his mother's house. It takes less time than he remebers to get there, far less. But he knows what he'll find find there, but he runs anyway, to pretend that it isn't true.

Yet only the ashes meet him, the heads of the wooden bodies still burning into nothing. Mother, father, sisters and brothers, a pile of ash on each with the flames still dancing on it. Like a picture.

picture picture picture picture picture picture CLICK.

The painting he made, after the divorce- the goddess of happiness burning to ash.

He wakes up, still inside the delusion. but now he sees it for what it is, he can see the lies within the lies, they way this world wrapping under itself, bending at the edges.

He knows.

"I SEE YOU!" he screams, pointing to the sky wildly. "I. SEE. YOU!"

"I see you, taker of minds, you who bends the world into the illusions of others! I see you!" He's screaming to the sky, yelling like a mad man. "I see you, giving me my dreams and taking them away! I see you! You fed from my memories, now the see the ones being made! I see you, dreamer of evils! I see you and I name you! You are FALSEHOODS!"

He breathes, chest heaving up and down from his tirade. He sees the door of the house- the exact shade of wood as the one he entered forever ago, yet only a minute has passed.

"I see you, I see your domain! And now," he breaths again, "now just watch as I break free."

He throws open the door and walks through.

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“Fear consumes us all."

:::::::::::::::::

It...It was a sword. No doubt about it; Robin's fingers flew over the steel handle, and jerked back as if stung when they grazed the sharp double-edge. She had asked, she had yelled-- for something she could fight-- and her wish had been granted just like that. And yet...

//Fight me.// The voice demanded again, and there was a distinct sound of air parting again blade-- and even though she couldn't see it, Robin could almost feel the tip of another sword pointed at her dirt streaked forehead-- ready to end her life at a moments glance. The voice, the tempter, was challenging her, testing her-- would she engage in a battle that Robin knew she couldn't win? It was impossible, unfair, a battle she would surely loose-- but why did Robin's heart match the pounding of her head? Why did her hand tighten around the sword's handle, incorrectly, but tightly all the same. She had never even used a sword, held one, much less trained with one!

A battle that would kill her.

But a challenge all the same.

Robin wanted nothing more that to just curl up into a ball and fall asleep-- to wake up at the academy and find that she had never even found the golden snitch. With a clenched feeling in both her heart and head-- Robin let the sword clatter to the ground and into the mass of swaying reeds. Her face was pained, backing down from such a challenge, but she would not fight an unjust battle.

"I'm not going to fight you," She muttered, shame replacing her sense of fear.

//You won't?// The voice sounded surprised now-- much less of a monster ready to slit her throat-- than before.

"No," Robin snapped, voice tensed. "I won't. I won't fight a battle when I can't even see my opponent."

//Then...// The voice was hesitant now, but it grew with anger and certainty as it continued. //You will die.//

Wha-- Robin jerked to the side as the blade whizzed over her head. Scrambling backwards the girl was only just able to dodge the next swipe-- before a third was already lunging for her heart.

And for the first time in her entire life, Robin believed that she was going to really die-- even her thoughts in the storm were childish, thought by and thinking immortal. But now-- with each step Robin stumbled backwards, a moment of her life was there before her eyes, and gone; it was just like in the books.

Clutching her newborn sister to her chest.

Step.

Opening a present to find a puppy leap out at her.

Stumble.

Some birthday floating by, like a faded old photo graph that you really just can't remember what it was about anymore.

Fall.

The hum of a cello as the bow flew across it's strings.

Trip.

A flash of lightening and a child's scream.

Run.

Her feet leaving the coarse white plains of a block-- diving into the water and swimming her heart out.

Fly.

"I regret to inform you that Alison Robins died last night-- we tried to save her, but the cancer had spread too far along. We couldn't save her. We are terribly sorry for your loss."

Flee.

Tears.

Race.

Robin stood on the edge of the beach, waves lapping at her feet-- watching her father, watching the military submarine, slowly sink below the surface-- one face among the entire crowd wanting to catch one last glimpse of their loved ones.

Back.

Swimming, peaceful, water-- air? --"You were down there for over three minutes!" A friend said.

Stride.

"Was I?"

Gait.

The pain, the sorrow-- the Vietnam memorial that nearly killed her.

Sprint.

Spending two weeks in the hospital.

Lope.

Robin stared at her hand, transfixed in the low light of her bedroom as a small blue flame danced before her eyes.

Plunge.

"Remember Robin," Trent said, giving her a stern look. "If someone looses too much of their life-force, theirs or yours, it can be, it will be, fatal. Be careful what you give."

Plumment.

“You have been accepted into Alexandria Academy.”

Stagger.

Robin slid onto the pure black bench, the faux wood cold against her brown pajama shorts. The keys shone brightly in the moonlight that streamed through the window of the skylight, and they invited her to join her in their silence stance-- to bring life, melody, and harmony their home. So Robin placed her hands dimly on the white keys, placed her bare-foot on the pedal, closed her eyes-- and began to play.

Lurch.

“Beautiful.”

Slip.

“Stop it. Stop it right now.”

Sway.

The words formed on her tongue, word of agreement, but they seemed lost there and didn't have any will, any motivation to leave her lips. Instead she gave a small dreary nod, fingers of her palm curling as she extinguished her flame that she had created.

Wobble.

Robin stared at the sand, something catching the sunlight and in turn—catching her eye. Reaching down and dusting the sand off the object—Robin held it up to the light. Why… wow. It looked like a… a snitch.

Bend.

The window was unlocked.

Falter.

The waves were free.

Lean.

The caverns cold.

Hesitate.

“Says the little girl whose name I do not know.”

Bow.

WHAM! Both her bones and wall rattled from the force as her left arm slammed into one side of the wall. WHAM! Her right arm struck the other side. With a seeming mind of their own, the flame spread into the air, growing along the cracks and edges of the receding wall. Then, Robin inhaled deeply-- and released the energy within her—and the force-field held the walls in place.

Break.

Beyond these doors, lay each of your greatest fears. You must enter alone, and for your greatest fear, you must have no one near. Choose a door, and enter alone—for you have lost, what is more. But beware, young travelers, and do not despair—for it is only fair, that whatever lies behind me, is as terribly deadly as you believe it to be. A sword through the heart with still it, and a spear in your stomach with spill it. The injuries you gain here, will follow you home, and no one will be able to come here.

Realization.

Is as terribly deadly as you believe it to be.

Robin’s eyes widened, and in realization—she froze for a moment, almost earning a sword to the side if she hadn’t tripped over sideways. Staggering backwards, and trying to right herself as she turned to face the invisible attacker—“This isn’t real!” Robin shouted over the rapid rumbling of the thunder.

//Are you so sure?// The voice challenged, ad Robin—standing still, felt a ripping, terrible pain scratch up her side—and an ice-cold numbness that sent her staggering to the ground, biting back a scream. Strangely enough, though—her eyes were brighter and less full of fear than they had been since the moment her powers were drained.

“I am,” she said triumphantly. “This whole world—this storm—is all real because I think it is. I was hurt,” her voice broke, “because I believed the sword was sharp. This nightmare, is all real—because I believed it to be. It has not rained, because I feared it would not. The door disappeared, because I was scared I would be left all alone.”

//Liar!// The rolls reversed.

“You may be able to hurt me with that sword,” Robin’s voice was harmonized by the increasing volume of the thunder—and she sat straight and tall on the ground, hugging her side in the sheer pain and awesome power of the truth. “But you can’t hurt me anymore—because I DON’T BELIEVE IN YOU!”

And the storm broke.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

He falls through the doorway onto white sand, the door closing behind him. He lays on the ground for a few seconds- illusion or not, he is exhausted. Breath in, breath out. Stop shedding tears for people who never existed. But he can't help thinking that for just a minute in that nightmare, he had a loving family like he had always dreamed. Then look what happened. Would this sort of torture follow him forever, because of what he is?

Don't think about that now. Breath in, breath out.

He looks at his hands, still devoid of power, still empty, but the tips are burned slightly- the fire was real, at any rate. He pulls himself up, shivering in the cool air. All he has on again his his wetsuit, no warm bathrobe anymore. Breath in, breath out. Stay standing, don't fall.

He wanders over to the door, wondering what had really been inside it. He opens it, standing back so not to be sucked back in.

He's looking into the cavern he just left- there is nothing between this door and that one, they are the same door.

He blinks, then closes the door and sits down on the sand, dazed, waiting for Robin to reappear and for his mind to begin functioning again.

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain."

:::::::::::::::::

And when the storm broke, down came the rain.

Slowly at first, just a few drops. But the second the first on hit Robin squarely on the head, her vision flickered again. Grinning, Robin lifted her head up to the sky, letting her face catch the rain as it began to pour down as hard as it could-- the girl was soaked to the bone in seconds. Eyes glowing pupiless blue, as they always did when her powers peaked in the water-- she had never been more thankful for the rain. At least she could see again, even though it was just the lidded neon-blue and black of her life-force, it was seeing all the same.

Suddenly, the lightening the flashed, and the thunder that rolled didn't seem so frightening anymore.

But what to do now? Robin sat in the quickly growing mud, knees close to her chest and caressing the cut on her side with blood and rain splattered fingers-- in nothing but her wet-suit-- trying to stop herself from--

Click.

Robin turned, slowly, to see a door swing widely open-- looking like it had been selected out of a fairy-tale, with it's glowing beams of light and vines encircling the posts that held it upright. Peering around the side of the door, Robin was only-half-surprised to see that there was nothing but air an dirt behind the door. And yet... she could see the cavern of sand and stone right in front of her. In the rain-- no one could see her tears of pain and sheer relief.

Robin gave herself on look over, laughing and crying at the same time. She had beaten fear with only a few words, and at the loss nothing worth more than a few dollars (Robin looking miserably at the half-falling off tape around her fingers) Tightening them, and taking one last look at the gray sky, Robin half-walked, half fell into the doorway.

And turning around as the last drop of rain rendered her blind to the world again, the last thing she saw before slamming the door shut was a flash of lightning that split the sky into two like glass as the world came tumbling down.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

The other door opened. Pierre turned his head listlessly, his eyes blank, his mind blank, everything blank and sapped out of him. He felt empty, emptier than he ever had in his life, empty and cold and blank, a sheet of paper waiting to be written on.

Christina came through the other door, and he watched as she turned back, taking one last look at the illusion she had been pulled through. She was more injured now, he noticed offhandedly- her terror must have been more physical, then. Blink. Breath.

He feels he should stand up, but also at the same time he shouldn't, that he should just sit there forever and never have to worry again.

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“The wise man takes time to recover."

:::::::::::::::::

Robin leaned back against the door, panting as water dripped down her face. This was crazy. Crazy. Insane. Who did this for fun? Wiping the water out of her face that trickled down into her eyes, Robin closed her eyes for a moment, trying to catch her breath. After a moment's rest, "Antonie?" Robin asked, voice ringing in the cavern. He had to be here-- if he wasn't here--Robin's hand, trapped behind her, curled against the door knob of the door of fears. Would she have to go back and look for him--?

There. A glimpse of someone sitting over in the corner of the cave before the world faded to a black. Hand running against the wall, Robin walked over to him-- bare feet not making a sound in the white-sand. Sliding down the wall next to him, Robin dryly offered, "Water?" as she opened her backpack that she had carried with her all this time (soaked but otherwise okay) and taking out two water-bottles.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

His name. He stirs a bit, turning his head toward Robin's voice, yet making no move to get up off the sand. Nice sand. Soft sand. He could stay here forever, wouldn't that be nice?

Robin walked toward him, and he watched yet didn't see. It was like listening to music in the air while looking at a painting, you only really noticed one, not both. Or perhaps he was too empty to care.

She offered him a water bottle, or at least he thinks she did, maybe she was just holding one for herself. He takes one from her outstretched hand anyway, only now realizing how dry his throat is. He opens the bottle slowly, tiredly, raises it to his mouth and drinks.

The water sends a surge of energy through him, waking him from his lethargy. "Thank you," he says, then hears how rasping his voice is and takes another sip. Better. He stands up, shaking, but steadies himself and takes Robin's hand again. "You okay?"

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“Run, run, as fast as you can!"

:::::::::::::::::

Screwing her own water bottle cap back on, Robin slipped the water back into the backpack and with Antonie's help, stood up. "I destroyed fear," She joked, voice quiet. "How can I not be okay? But are you okay? Your hands are burnt." Quite noticeably, actually-- and Robin can't help but wonder what his greatest fear was. Fire, the quite opposite of water. Two different fears, though Robin would never hate the water, more specifically the rain, again. Probably two different outcomes. When you played with fire, you got burnt. When you played with water, you drowned.

Though, Antonie's fear could have nothing to do with fire at all. Maybe he was in some sort of haunted mansion with a fire-place? There was Robin's imagination again, a sign she was slowly recovering. It would be okay, though this nightmare would come again and again-- this was not something you could easily forget, or talk about. Fear. The essence of human emotion, and yet it was so hard to beat.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Oh, yes. His hands are burned, aren't they. They begin to sting as he realizes this, skin stretching and blistering slowly. He looks at one, not really seeing it. "I'm fine, I think," he answers. "You're soaked." He isn't really trying to accomplish anything by saying that, just stating a fact. Facts are nice. From facts you can go anywhere, from fantasies to lies.

He's thinking again, how nice.

"Ready to go on?" he asks. He needs out of here, he needs to be far away from this white sand of delusions, he needs to get away, but no way is he going without her.

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“Keep your eyes high and do not succumb to the temptations of desire."

:::::::::::::::::

"Yeah, let's go," Robin said tersely, "I don't want to meet whoever was the mind-bender behind those doors. Seriously." And they moved forward, down a slowly slanting hill of caverns-- about an 1/8th of a mile away from the next door. Then, remembering Antonie's comments from earlier, the girl asked dubiously, "Are you sure your hands are okay?" They had felt pretty bad-- and the weird edge to Antonie's voice made her think twice. "I could always try to heal it for you, I've gotten better since... recently." Yeah, since the time she and Kins jumped off the roof. Ouch. Very painful-- and very painful afterward trying to heal him.

>>Flash>> "Stop it. Stop it right now."

Shaking her head, Robin sent droplets of water off the tips of her hair, and to shake off the memories, shivering. "It was raining in my fear-dream. At the very end, but it still rained. Now I wish it hadn't, very cold." One foot in front of the other. Step. Step. Step.